


Ebb And Flow

by Owlship



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: (for like one sentence), F/M, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, Max Comes Back, Non-exclusive relationship, Oblivious Furiosa, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pining Max, Post-Canon, clueless idiots who don't know how to have emotions or what to do when they do have them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-29 03:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15063776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlship/pseuds/Owlship
Summary: Max's face does something complicated when she rolls over in bed to face him and asks if he wants to fuck.





	Ebb And Flow

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by YoukaiYume's [delightful comic](http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/post/129200354918)! Originally posted [on tumblr](http://v8roadworrier.tumblr.com/post/155910473927/youkaiyume-youkaiyume-thanks-for-clearing).

Max's face does something complicated when she rolls over in bed to face him and asks if he wants to fuck. She's pretty sure he finds her attractive enough for it, has seen his eyes roam before snapping guiltily back to her face, and then jittering off somewhere else entirely.

Furiosa waits his silence out. Once upon a time if she got the itch to trade paint she would have turned to her crew, but, well. The few survivors are understandably wary around her even now, and if she's being honest she likes the way Max looks better, likes the way his body feels against her when they attempt to spar, when they lean against each other on her mattress.

"Just sex," he says, not quite a question but uncertain.

She hums an answer; what else would there be?

His eyes flick to some point off behind her, and she watches his throat bob as he swallows. "Alright," he says after a time, gaze returning to her face.

The hair on his face scratches against her skin when she kisses him, a novel sensation.

 

Furiosa doesn't much care about restricting sex to her room- there's always _someone_ rutting in the shadowy corners, and it doesn't bother her any if she's one of them. Max, however, gets too nervy to do more than trade a kiss or two, to put his big hands on her hips for a few minutes before moving away again.

She gets it. The hallways of the Citadel hold memories for him, and just because she pushed hers away with heat and slickness and friction that doesn't mean it's the only way to do it. So it's the bed in her room, once the backseat of his car on one of the rare occasions it's been cleaned out and the garage is empty, a few times up in the gardens among the green and open sky.

It's certainly good enough that she has no complaints, likes having an outlet for when her skin is buzzing and she needs something other than violence to expend it or when she just wants it, a warm body she trusts. Max doesn't seem as if he has any complaints either, never shows any hint that she's pushing him into things he doesn't want.

He doesn't like fucking her outside of her room but he'll do other things, no longer so shy about her personal space. A light tap on her arm to get her attention, a hand on the small of her back when they walk sometimes, his leg pressed against hers when they eat together. He doesn't say anything but she catches herself threading her fingers through his hair on a day when he's sitting on the ground next to her seat, and when she looks down his eyes are halfway closed, content.

 

"Can I?" he asks one day, only a vague motion towards her shoulders giving any enlightenment about what he means. Or maybe her chest, though she doubts he's looking for a grope all things considered.

"Can you what," Furiosa replies tiredly, not in the mood to decipher him after the day she's had.

"Your shoulders," he says, "I can help, um, loosen the knots."

She considers it; for all they've done together she still hates admitting weakness, is still keeping half an eye out for a knife to her throat. She slept with some of her crew now and again, but she never kidded herself that their loyalties weren't ultimately to the V8, not her. But Max isn't crew, isn't anyone she can imagine hurting her.

"Alright," she says.

His eyes lighten like he's the one who was offered to get a massage, not give one, and it makes her wonder if she should offer to pay the favor back. They've never worked like that though, not really.

Furiosa sits between his legs and lets him dig into her muscles hard enough to hurt, until she feels so loose she can't do anything except lean back into him with a sigh. He wraps his arms around her middle- loosely, something she'd barely need to push against to break free of- and sets his head against hers, letting out a little contented noise of his own.

She rests there for a moment and then twists, puts her hand on the back of his skull and drags him into a kiss that leads to them undressing where they are, a slow leisurely pace while she lets him do most of the work.

 

"I'm telling you," Cheedo is saying when she walks into the room, "He's been making eyes at her the entire week."

Furiosa ignores the way the girls all glance at her and walks over to Toast, the latest copy of the armory's inventory in her hand.

"I think Max might go for it," Capable says.

There's a split-second of hesitation in her movements. What about Max? "The inventory," she says to Toast.

"Thanks," she replies, taking the sheave of paper from her. "Hey, what's your take on Annara? We can't decide if she'd say yes to Max or not."

"Yes to what?" Furiosa asks, something turning over uneasily in her gut.

"To a little ‘personal diplomacy'," the Dag says with an eyebrow waggle. "Don't tell us you haven't noticed."

She hasn't, assuming they're implying what she thinks they are. Not that it matters; Max can do what- and whom- he wants. Annara's part of the envoy from Bullet Farm, a woman Furiosa hasn't taken any special notice of one way or another. She thinks about her and Max together and doesn't like the picture it makes, but it's his decision. "She'd be fool not to," she says.

"That good, huh?" Toast asks.

Yes, Furiosa thinks immediately but doesn't say. "Don't we have a treaty to focus on?"

The girls share a look between themselves and it sets her on edge, the oddly cold feeling in her stomach only growing stronger. But the conversation does turn to the treaty and stays there, to her relief.

 

Hours later and the thought keeps reappearing. Max not showing up in their room because he's off with someone else; Max coming back smelling like sex, with marks on his skin that she hasn't put there; Max smiling and relaxed in a stranger's company.

He's fully capable of making his own decision and it isn't as if their arrangement talked about exclusivity or anything- she's fucked a few other people herself since they started sleeping together, so she really can't expect anything else from him without being hypocritical. Never mind that the last person she screwed around with had been a few hundred or so days ago, when Max had been gone nearly ninety and she needed the distraction before she rattled out of her skin. It had been terrible, quick and sloppy, a far worse distraction than just staying in bed and using her hand, or working herself to the bone in the garages.

Max shows up like normal, shucking his outer layers and asking with his eyes and his stance how her day was. She doesn't look to see if there are any signs of sex on him, but rather than answer the unspoken question she pulls him down to the bed and does her level best to make him forget any thoughts he might have about the treaty proceedings, to forget about the representatives quartered only two floors away from their room.

He keeps trying to gentle her, to ask if there's anything the matter, and she tells him of course not even as she can't seem to stop fighting against something she can't put a name to. A feeling that resembles dread, maybe, or jealousy. Something bitter and squirming and low, anyway.

 

It occurs to her after Bullet Farm leaves and takes Annara with them that in the past she would have floated the idea of the three of them. Annara was attractive enough that it wouldn't have been a hardship, after all.

But the idea leaves a sour taste in her mouth and Furiosa can't explain why.

 

She misses the last of the orange slices the mess had for dinner and it's fine, it's what she gets for deciding to push to finish up rather than take a break when the meals get set out. It's one of the types of things that's too indulgent to count on, anyway.

She takes a seat next to Max, his plate nearly empty as he wolfs down food as if it'll be taken away at any moment- not an impossibility, though less so inside the new Citadel. There's an orange slice at the edge of his plate and she glances at it, eye caught by the splash of color amid today's bean paste and unleavened biscuits.

"I've nearly gotten the carburetor fixed," Furiosa says, and he stops eating long enough to carry on a conversation between bites.

When he's done scraping the bottom of his plate for the last remnants of bean paste he nudges the orange slice towards her. "‘m too full," he mumbles, "Don't wanna waste it."

She knows that there's no such thing as ‘too full' for him, not after living as a scav for so long, and so she breaks the slice down the middle, handing one half back to him. "You'll get scurvy."

His lips twitch up into a smile, but he accepts the fruit without further complaint.

 

"Oh for-" the Dag says, and grabs Furiosa's arm.

The unexpected touch doesn't trip her defenses these days the way it would in the past, but she still reflexively pulls her arm away and whirls, body sliding into a ready stance.

"I don't know who you think you're fooling," the Dag says. "Go and tell Max you're in love with him and spare us any more misery, yeah? Between the two of you no one can breath through the clouds of confused pining that's wafting through the air."

Furiosa stares at her, too shocked to speak. "You don't know what you're talking about," she settles on.

The Dag huffs. "You're both idiots," she says, and shakes her head before turning to walk away.

 

Just like thoughts of the woman from the Bullet Farm, the Dag's words rattle around her head far longer than they should.

Furiosa beds down for the night but can't sleep, too riled up. Max's arm is draped over her waist, his face tucked against the back of her neck, breath tickling her skin. She can't remember when that happened, when touches like that stopped making her feel uncomfortable enough to lash out and flee.

It's just sex between them. And friendship, of course; there isn't anyone she trusts more than she does Max, no one she spends more time with. That's not love, not the way she knows the Dag meant.

She turns over on the mattress; Max stirs a little, but he stays asleep. When did _he_ get so trusting? She remembers when any disturbance would send him into fits, and now- she reaches out and lays her hand against his cheek; he makes a quiet noise and rubs his face against the pillow, his eyelids not even fluttering.

Furiosa looks at his sleeping face and feels an indescribable sort of emotion. Something bright and warm and soft, yet firm. She thinks about him deciding to leave, about him deciding he wants to be with someone else, and feels that same twisting coldness in her gut as before.

But that doesn't mean anything, doesn't mean what the Dag was implying.

She thinks about him staying, about continuing to fall asleep next to him, how he does things and looks at her, and the ways she's made space in her life for him, and it conjures up a slow sort of warmth.

But that doesn't mean anything either, does it? They're friends. Friends care about one another.

She chews it over all night, her mind running circles after itself, until it's the first blush of dawn and Max is stirring awake. His eyes open, slow, trusting, and he blinks away the remains of sleep.

When he focuses on her there's a smile spreading across his face, soft and what she can only call affectionate, and when her first unconscious response is to mirror the expression she thinks- _oh_.


End file.
